


Potential Pursuit

by azure7539



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22014355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539
Summary: In a strange twist of events, it’s Q who asks Bond out first.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 10
Kudos: 198





	Potential Pursuit

**Author's Note:**

> For the MI6 Cafe's **Anon Gift Exchange Prompts - Week 4**
> 
> This hasn't been proofread. I can only hope that there aren't too many mistakes for now. I'll go back and check later.

In a strange twist of events, it’s Q who asks Bond out first, believe it or not.

And as Bond stands there, tapping his cane with perhaps more sulk than he will ever admit, even to himself, he still, more or less, can _ not _ believe it. 

Just as well, really, because who knows? Maybe his quartermaster just wanted a casual Saturday night out with a colleague, and it’s Bond who’s deluding himself and making this into a much bigger deal than it’s supposed to be. 

It’s a little hard to say when it comes to Q. Sure, they’ve been dancing around each other for no less than two years, always tipping just on the verge of outright flirtation. But that doesn’t mean that Q is interested in Bond. Well, interested in  _ potentially _ pursuing a, god forbid,  _ relationship  _ with Bond.

No.

It just means that he’s a minx.

(And at any rate, if this were before, before this  _ blasted _ cane, Bond would say that he had something to offer Q as well, something that would make it worthwhile had they started a relationship. But well.)

It doesn’t take much for Bond to spot Q from afar—hard to miss that head of thick curls, after all. And he tried not to smile when Q waves, rushing through the throng of people to get to where Bond is waiting for him.

“Sorry,” he says in lieu of a greeting, face flushed from running. “Got held up for a bit. Did you wait long?”

Bond shakes his head. “I’m early.” He makes a show of checking his watch. “You’re right on time, actually.”

Q’s face lights up like a Christmas light.

* * *

The pub is small and cozy, well-balanced wood tables polished and solid heavy, firmly planted on the floor. There’s no obnoxious music filling the air, the telly is playing some sports channel at a decent volume, and the drinks are not too bad at all either.

The conversation started out a bit awkward, probably because this is the first time they’ve ever met each other, in or out of work, just because. No country to be saved, no bad men to be stopped. Just the two of them. In a pub.

Whatever in the air that lingers between the two of them helped shift the gears soon enough, and it’s not long before the nervous tension that crackles like an undercurrent of electricity starts dissipating, morphing into a soft hum of charged energy. 

The cocktail that Q drinks has delivered a fetching shade of pink to those cheeks, and his lips seem to have become that much redder in the process as well, glistening from how he keeps licking at them. An unconscious tic. And Bond is trying not to be rude by staring. He really is.

But at least the distraction is much appreciated.

“They seem to like the toys you got them,” Q laughs, showing Bond a photo of his two fur beasts, a captured moment forever with them suspended in the act of absolutely  _ wrecking _ that poor little mouse. Bond can’t tell if those cats actually like what he got them; he can only see that they appear particularly  _ vicious _ .

Some trust to earn there, huh.

“That’s good to know,” Bond says, finishing half of his first beer and watching as Q places his mobile back into his pocket securely.

Some cheers erupt nearby, fish-netting their attention. A group of people are playing darts, and it seems like they’re finishing up, too.

Bond looks at it, the dartboard hung on the wall, tries to not think about his cane as it leans a rigid weight against the side of his thigh, and wonders if it’ll spice things up enough to hopefully leaves a passable impression for the night.

(He doesn’t think about the implications of his thoughts, either.)

“Fancy a game of darts?” he suggests, doesn’t miss the way Q’s eyes seem to shine under the casting shadows of his long eyelashes.

There’s an almost knowing look there, but then Q’s lips pull back to reveal a smile, and Bond forgets all about it.

“Are we playing to win, Mr Bond?” 

Bond finds himself smiling also, standing up with the support of the table when he sees Q do the same. “Depends on the prize. We’re all competitive here.”

Damn right, they are.

* * *

That warm atmosphere of the pub lingers around them like a second skin, even after they’ve gone home, lightening things up in a warm, fuzzy outline. 

It isn’t a spectacular night by all means, no fancy five-course meals or shimmering dresses and expensive colognes, but in terms of providing keepsake-worthy memories—it is by far one of the rarer ones. Quiet and intimate.

They stop at the doorstep to Q’s home (because leg injury or no, Bond can’t really imagine himself not doing this) and turn to say goodbye. 

In the light wash of yellow hue from the streetlamp, the features of Q’s face seem to soften, gaining a near ethereal glow, and Bond tells himself to be careful. To not mess this up somehow, or perhaps misunderstand the signals being sent his way. 

( _ This is important _ , he thinks. As though he hasn’t ruined everything important he’s laid his hands on before. Every single one of them.)

But then, Q just sighs, in his long-suffering way that sounds at once exasperated and fond, and leans in to kiss him. Just like that. 

Their lips are cold from the tingling night chill, but they warm up quickly enough, still delicately supple and soft, tasting of traces of that cocktail Q drank from earlier. 

For a second, Bond can feel the fluttering pulse of Q’s jugular thrumming from where his hands are cupping Q’s face and neck. And the next, Q has already stepped away, nervously licking his lips and adjusting his glasses like the motions alone can hide how red he’s become in that one fleeting moment.

“See you, then,” Q says, and Bond would probably worry that he regretted it, if it weren’t for that small, secretive smile. “And don’t forget you owe me one.”

“I’m unlikely to forget that any time soon, Quartermaster,” Bond replies with a chuckle, and Q just laughs, fetching his keys from inside his pocket.

“And—” just when Bond thinks Q’s going to charge the key in and head inside, he turns around to shoot Bond a sharp look. “Stop sulking about your cane; you’ll be rid of it soon enough if you keep coming to therapy. And I, for one, think it brings a distinguished touch.”

His smile widens, and Q closes the door with a wave.

And that was how the night of their first date went.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:** 00Q first date- comfy and at a pub, bonus if there's pub songs and darts James walks Q home, first kiss


End file.
